Page 119 of The Bright and Hungry Future of Hawks

He had suddenly become what he had so recently wished he could—the one who looked after Nikolas.Aleksey. Ben cursed himself in the silence of his head. Names had always been a source of friction between them.

Calling this man he adored by the name he preferred seemed such a small thing compared to what Ben would do for him.

Ben opened his eyes and saw that morning had come.

As he pondered the names, tested the new one in his head, the sunlight crested the rim of the mine and struck him full face.

And as if his thoughts were the furious wind in his hair and the roaring engine of his bike, they skidded to a gravel-kicking sudden halt on the realisation of what he had to do.

He almost smiled. Then he did, broadly, repressing the urge to actually laugh out loud.

And he’d thought buying a holiday for them had shown maturity and care for Nikolas Mikkelsen?

He glanced once more at the top of the shaft.

Very carefully, he eased himself from the entanglement of limbs that had held him captive for fourteen years…

…and began to save the man he loved.

* * *

Chapter 66

Four Months Before April

Aleksey came around from his latest slump into blessed unconsciousness to find himself alone.

There was a small tin cup alongside him with some water in, he was lying in mud, and he was in agony. He hurt so much that he wanted to cry, and wondered where his lifelong flirtation with the pleasure of pain had suddenly gone.

But why was there a mug with filthy water in his hallway?

This was his house in London where he kept Aleksey when he wasn’t being Nikolas.

This was the red door, but it was unravelling, the paint now a crimson spill, like blood.

The pain was explained then: he was wounded.

And very scared.

He remembered being shot and crawling over glass.

Is that why he was hurt?

There had always been fear and hurt in his life—both within him and trailing in his wake.

Had someone just called him? He had a phone in his hand and there was something chilling about its presence there, as if he had just been part of a conversation he could no longer recall and yet he knew had been important.

He was transfixed by a green icon.

He thought he might have been calling his mother. She’d been crying on the call which had driven her into the sea. Had that been him on the other end? Telling her about the murder of a young carpenter?

Had she answered his call and died?

The jade luminescence of the tiny square enticed him. It was almost translucent as it flicked across the ceiling of the hallway.

He heard noises and squinted up into the bright light of a new day.

He did not recall his hallway having a skylight. It seemed to him that there was a very steep climb to reach the promise of light.

---